


Things That Go Bump in the Night

by jooliewrites



Category: How to Get Away with Murder
Genre: Dreams and Nightmares, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, Flashbacks to the Murder, M/M, MINOR DESCRIPTIONS OF VIOLENCE, Married Coliver, Nightmares, minor gore
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-21
Updated: 2015-01-21
Packaged: 2018-03-08 11:11:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,726
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3207041
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jooliewrites/pseuds/jooliewrites
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Its been years but the nightmares still come. The nightmares will always come.</p>
<p>+</p>
<p>Connor dreams of murder and wakes to Oliver.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Things That Go Bump in the Night

**Author's Note:**

> Cross Posted from Tumblr. 
> 
> This was from the lovely Nonny prompt:  
> "Ooh! Can you do Connor having nightmares about the night of the murder? Sorry, I'm a sucker for hurt/comfort"
> 
> Thank you so much for the prompt love. Hope you all enjoy,  
> -Jules xoxoxo
> 
> Author's Note: There is some minor description of violence and/or gore. It is relatively minor and can be glossed over but I just wanted to make mention.

Connor jolts awake in the middle of the night with the whistle of an axe cutting through the air and the chorus of _Jingle Bells_ both echoing in his head. He curses himself as he slips out of bed to get some water, careful not to wake Oliver. He’s going to be waking Oliver many times over the upcoming nights, might as well let his husband sleep in peace while he can.

The nightmares are beginning again.

He had been doing so well, too. Seven months without a nightmare. Seven months! It was the longest he’d ever gone without an occurrence and Connor had actually started to believe that they were finally over this time. He should have known better. They’re never going to stop.

The next night is more of the same. The nightmares are always simple at the start, just the faint hum of the axe and that old familiar tune. His mind is warming up. Trying to remember the steps of a dance thought forgotten. Eventually the rest comes back though because, honestly, how could he possibly expect forget.

By the third night, more joins the axe and the song and his dreams are filled with the metallic odor of blood in his car and the sick crash that resounds through the Keating home as the murderer goes over the railing. In dreams, he recalls the scent of burning leaves mixed with roasting flesh and scrubbing his hands over and over in Oliver’s shower until they are red and raw.

Even more comes back as the nightmares get worse by the fifth night. He feels the weight of the body almost slipping out of his grip as they carry it to his car and the reverberation up his arm when his axe hits solid bone hiding under supple skin and sinew. His muscles ache in his shoulders and down back as he hefts a garbage bag full of his professor’s husband into a dumpster. He hears his own hysterical laugher echoing through the car as he drives alone to Oliver’s apartment on autopilot.

The worst is always the last night of a cycle. When, in the living hell of the nightmare, Connor looks down to see that he’s just cut off Sam’s left arm, right above the elbow, and the wedding ring on his fourth finger glints in the moonlight. He freezes, staring down at the hand that moments ago belonged to the body next to it.

In a day long past, Annalise slipped that ring on that hand for the very first time. Was Sam nervous on that happy day? Did that hand shake when she held it in her own and slipped that ring over that knuckle? Did either of them ever dream that hand would become the hand of a killer?

Connor wakes shaking with a cold sweat running down his back and a sob caught in the back of his throat. He rocks up and presses a hand to his mouth to stifle the sound of his harsh breaths, afraid to wake up Oliver but Oliver is already awake.

Oliver is always already awake.

He reaches over to pull Connor in close and they rock together. Oliver running a calming hand down Connor’s back as Connor tries to hold back the sobs. Oliver doesn’t try to wake Connor from the nightmares anymore like he used to. At the first sound of Connor whimpering, Oliver used to take him by the shoulders and shake him awake. Years of therapy, with sleep studies and dream journals and medications and behavior modifications, have taught Oliver not to do that anymore. The cycles tend to be shorter with longer time between occurrences if Connor wakes from the nightmares on his own. So now when Connor’s whimpering wakes him, Oliver just lies next to his suffering husband, forcing himself to hold back as he waits for Connor to pull himself out hell all on his own.

“I’m sorry,” Connor sobs into Oliver shoulder. He’s not doing well at keeping himself calm tonight; it’s been so long since they’ve done this. “I’m sorry—so sorry—I didn’t—we didn’t—I didn’t know—didn’t mean—I’m sorry—”

“Shhh,” Oliver soothes and presses a kiss to Connor’s temple. “You’re alright. You’re safe. Everything’s okay.”

Oliver continues to rock them back and forth while he waits. After Connor wakes from the nightmares, Oliver always wants to pull him in close, bury them both in a cocoon of blankets, and reassure Connor that everything is okay. Reassure his shaking and terrified husband that he is safe and loved and protected. But what Oliver wants is not always what Connor needs so Oliver holds Connor close until the shaking stops and waits for Connor’s next move.

Sometimes after the nightmares, Connor does let Oliver to hold him close while other times he leaves for their guest bedroom to spend the rest of the night alone. Sometimes Connor pulls Oliver down and they have sex, rushed and frantic and desperate, or make love, slow and reverent and gentle, depending on what Connor needs. Other times, Connor drags them both out of the bed to throw on sweats go for a run around their neighborhood in the middle of the night or turns on their TV to watch infomercials, horrible made-for-TV movies, and other treasures of late night TV for hours on end.

“Hey Ollie,” Connor whispers into Oliver’s shoulder and Oliver hums in acknowledgement. “Can you tell me about your day?”

“Sure Con,” Oliver says. He pulls back and brushes the hair out of Connor’s eyes. Lightly cradling Connor’s head in his hands, Oliver runs his thumbs along the line of Connor’s jaw with a silent question in his eyes but Connor gives a small shake of his head. He’s not ready yet. Oliver nods once and they both turn to pile their pillows together and lean back against the stack. Oliver wraps his arms around Connor’s shoulders and Connor tucks himself into Oliver’s side. Oliver cocks his head to rest his temple against Connor’s and begins. “Did I tell you that we’re looking into getting a new Internet service provider for the company?” And with that, Oliver’s off.

He rambles on and on about stupid, mundane problems at work. The research he’s getting on new service providers. The issues they’ve been having with their phone system. The angry email chain going around about the coffee machine not getting properly cleaned. The debate in the management meeting about changes to the company letterhead. The latest developments in the inter-office romance between two interns who are really trying to keep their relationship a secret and have no idea the whole company knows about them.

Oliver just lets himself talk and talk and talk. Telling Connor stories that he’d never normally think to share because they’re the kind of boring work stories that happen in every office around the world. Nothing even remotely meaningful or important happens in any of them. Stories with no point or purpose except to give him an excuse to fill the silence of their bedroom, which is exactly what Connor needs right now.

As Oliver drones on, Connor allows himself to drift; too raw after the nightmare to talk about it yet but too fragile at the moment to do anything but be held close. He slowly comes back to himself, lulled by the soothing cadence of Oliver’s voice.

As Oliver’s voice fades off and feeling more like himself, Connor reaches down to pick up one of Oliver’s hands and kisses the palm. Oliver turns it to cup Connor’s check and Connor uses one of his hands own to press Oliver’s hand closer and hold it there. After a beat, he says, “Sorry I’m such a mess.”

“Hey.” Oliver shifts his hand to tilt Connor’s chin up to meet his gaze. “I’ve told you. Never apologize for this.”

“I just—”

Oliver presses his thumb lightly to Connor’s lips. “Never. Stop it.”

Connor lets out a huff of annoyance but pulls Oliver down a little so they’re lying down, not propped up so much against their pillows anymore. They burrow closer until their chests are almost touching. “I thought they were over,” Connor whispers to Oliver’s chest.

“I know,” Oliver whispers back. “I—I kinda thought they were too.” They’re silent for a moment and Connor traces the pattern Oliver’s pajama shirt with his finger. “But hey, seven months is pretty good.”

“Yep.”

“The best we had when you were on those pills was what? Four and a half?” Connor nods. “Maybe it’s something to do with you getting older.”

Connor smirks to himself. “Well I’ll take this over erectile dysfunction any day.”

Oliver roughly pulls Connor’s head back by his hair. “Don’t joke about that,” he almost growls but Connor sees the laugher in his eyes. He breaks out in a wide, cocky grin. Oliver’s gaze softens and it’s fond when he whispers, “ _There’s_ my husband.”

Connor lets the grin fade away and adjusts his head on the pillow. “I love you Oliver.”

“I love you Connor.”

They share a soft smile before Connor snuggles in a little deeper and Oliver wraps his arms tighter around him. “Hey,” Connor says. “You never finished your story.”

“What story?”

“The one about Angela and the copy paper.”

“I wasn’t telling a story about Angela or copy paper. Angela doesn’t even work in my department anymore.”

“Well, then can you make up a story about Angela and copy paper?” Connor gives Oliver the pleading eyes that he knows work because he’s been using them on Oliver for well over a decade now. “Please Oliver. Tell me about your day.”

“Don’t give me—” Oliver starts but Connor is quick to whisper please and he watches as Oliver’s resolve crumbles. “You’re lucky I love you,” Oliver mumbles to himself, adjusting the pillows and getting comfortable. “Alright, so Angela was copying something—”

Connor closes his eyes and half listens as his husband fabricates a story about a woman he doesn’t even work with anymore. He falls asleep to the sound of Oliver’s voice in his ear with Oliver’s arms wrapped around him, settled in their bed, surrounded by the life they’ve built together, and knows without a hint of doubt that Oliver is right.

He _is_ lucky.

He’s the luckiest man in the world.

**Author's Note:**

> If you want to send other prompts or just say hi, I'm on [tumblr.](http://ramblesandreblogs.tumblr.com)


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